[ Quiet, the leaves shivering and settling, and Gaelio would begin to turn. Would begin to wonder at the feeling, the queer sensation in him before the boar's confusion. Would, but for the abrupt rending of the air.
The beginning ease of his muscles, the steadying of his breaths; both reroute. Tension a cord strung through him and pulled tighter. The size of the beast and it demeanor had made it formidable, but there's no mistaking the cacophony. Something crueler made quick work of it, vicious and sharp. Gaelio hasn't any practical experience with this. With the clash of teen and claw in the wild. Yet, all men have the primal rooted within their blood, and adrenaline spikes with instinctive warning.
He has taken a single step back, knowing to flee, when white breaks through the still disturbed green.
No experience with wolves, either, outside a zoo. But he thinks they should not be so large. They together freeze as if synchronized in it, as if practiced. Instinct should make it fear, but there's a grandeur to this beast that permits awe to overtake. Helped, no doubt, by his reduced capacity for fear.
It is beautiful. Even the terrible blood, highlighting the brilliance of its fur. And those eyes -- a color too familiar, and yet, as it is beyond his comprehension to take the association to reality's end, he interprets it thus: of course, it must be the dreams.
Gaelio finds himself smiling hollow, his heartbeat quieting, expectant. ]
Here is the nightmare. You've kept me waiting.
[ A strange dream, no doubt, but it would go like this: a moment's reprieve from one monster, only for the worst to come. A wolf with his eyes. As if anything could or ever did kill him in his dreams, but him.
So convinced is he, that the evidence of surprise in the wolf fails to reach him. ]
(there's something wrong with this plot)
The beginning ease of his muscles, the steadying of his breaths; both reroute. Tension a cord strung through him and pulled tighter. The size of the beast and it demeanor had made it formidable, but there's no mistaking the cacophony. Something crueler made quick work of it, vicious and sharp. Gaelio hasn't any practical experience with this. With the clash of teen and claw in the wild. Yet, all men have the primal rooted within their blood, and adrenaline spikes with instinctive warning.
He has taken a single step back, knowing to flee, when white breaks through the still disturbed green.
No experience with wolves, either, outside a zoo. But he thinks they should not be so large. They together freeze as if synchronized in it, as if practiced. Instinct should make it fear, but there's a grandeur to this beast that permits awe to overtake. Helped, no doubt, by his reduced capacity for fear.
It is beautiful. Even the terrible blood, highlighting the brilliance of its fur. And those eyes -- a color too familiar, and yet, as it is beyond his comprehension to take the association to reality's end, he interprets it thus: of course, it must be the dreams.
Gaelio finds himself smiling hollow, his heartbeat quieting, expectant. ]
Here is the nightmare. You've kept me waiting.
[ A strange dream, no doubt, but it would go like this: a moment's reprieve from one monster, only for the worst to come. A wolf with his eyes. As if anything could or ever did kill him in his dreams, but him.
So convinced is he, that the evidence of surprise in the wolf fails to reach him. ]